


bird boy

by mystoxxide



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Birbs, Birds, Brief suicidal thoughts, Existential Angst, Existential Crisis, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Modern AU, Wholesome, b-birbs?, fluff ig, how does one tag, i've tagged birds five times now this cannot be good but that's all there is, lots of birbs, mostly just some gays being soft, my friends have been waiting for this for like five days, set in britain though it's not really important, too many birbs, um, uplifting, you're thinking it can't just be birbs but that's literally it. just. birbs.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:01:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24386344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystoxxide/pseuds/mystoxxide
Summary: Grant has an existential crisis, and meets Shawn, who has lots of birds.
Relationships: Grant Cohen/Shawn Flynn
Comments: 13
Kudos: 19





	bird boy

**Author's Note:**

> hello, batim fandom! i've been trying to muster up the courage to write and post something here. it's,,,, kinda sloppy? but i really enjoyed the writing process and my friends egging me on to finish it through days and days of word sprints. enjoy!

Grant Cohen was a mess.

The answer had come to him, in the middle of one of his insomnia-filled midnight musings. He had been sipping water, curled into a blanket, staring out the window of his apartment at the gray-blue mist that swarmed the streets at night. Lamplights shone below, little beacons to guide the way along. His brow furrowed, mind lost in thought.

He came to his conclusion so suddenly, so fiercely, that the glass clattered out of his hand in sheer surprise, water sloshing onto the carpet and wetting his feet. Air caught in his lungs as he thought it over again, and again, until he came to an agreement.

Essentially, in his idealisms, there was simply just nothing to live for.

This sent him into a spiralling stupor of thought. What was the point, after everything he’d been through? The answer was nothing, nothing at all. Every action was worthless, in the long run: it all led to harming the environment, the ecosystem, the planet they were inhabiting. Humans were so cruel, taking and taking without a single thought of providing anything back to the planet. Humans were overloading it, and eventually it’ll crumble under the weight.

He sat there at the window for a long time, and when dawn came and the sun rose into the pale, clouded Birmingham sky, Grant went outside. The cool Autumn wind slightly chilled his cheeks as he found a seat on a wood bench adjacent to the building outside. He stared at his knees, hunching into himself.

What was he supposed to do now? Off himself? Surely not. That couldn’t be the end. Grant had always thought he would live to an old age, but what was the point if that life was full of pain and suffering? Was there really any way to relax and enjoy life while knowing of the rapidly approaching future of the human race?

While he was busy thinking, something small landed on the tarmac next to him.

Startled out of his musings, he looked down at the small red and brown bird that hopped to its legs, fluffing out its feathers and letting out an indignant chirp. It was small, petitely structured- a finch, maybe, or a robin. Its head twisted up to look at him with beady black eyes, before extending its skinny wings wide and flapping hard. Surprisingly, nothing came of it.

The bird dropped its wings, letting out a noise that sounded incredibly frustrated. Grant reached out to it, finding no resistance as he picked the skinny thing up, cradling it in his hands. “Hey there,” he murmured. The bird blinked at him. He gently rubbed its head with his finger, letting out a chuckle when it nipped at the skin there in a questioning manner. “Looks like we’re both in a tough place.” The little house finch was now playing with his fingers, playfully hanging onto his index with his spindly little feet, twittering madly with glee and trying to bite the others that waggled near him.

Grant sat back with a sigh, his eyes soft and tired as he watched the little bird hop around him on the bench with a small smile. A pattering of footsteps made him look up to the entrance of his apartment block, where a young man emerged. His honey-almond hair was frazzled and his green eyes darted around _. “Poppy!”_ He cried, head whipping around in search. He spotted the little bird resting rather calmly on Grant’s knee, and ran up to him, plucking him up as the ball of feathers made an indignant chirp. “I’m sorry if he’s annoying you, sir, I took my eyes off him for one moment and he jumped—”

The bird, at this point, was chirping in rage, and bit down on his thumb. The man let out a shout, and the little finch hopped back onto Grant’s knee, beady eyes blinking at him.

Grant blinked back, then reached for the other man’s hand, wincing slightly. “I’m sorry, that seems like it hurts.” He mumbled. The other let out a small laugh. “It’s fine. He’s a nasty little shit anyway.” He had a slightly Irish accent, but it was softened with overtones of American, and his voice had a soft, sweet texture. “He seems attached to you.” He smiled softly. “Poppy, come on, we’re going home.” He held out his index finger to the finch, but it just tweeted at him and refused to move. “ _Poppy—_ ” He glanced at Grant, then gave the bird an _‘I can’t believe you’re seriously pulling this, you’re embarrassing me,’_ look.

The bird refused to budge.

The small Irishman sighed, turning to Grant. “I’m really sorry, he’s very stubborn sometimes. Would you mind coming back to my apartment?”

Grant looked at him for a moment, then decided, _why the hell not?_

On the way up Grant discovered that the man’s name was Shawn, he lived on the fourth floor (whereas Grant lived on the seventh) and the bird- Poppy, who was a male but Shawn hadn’t realised that until after he named him femininely- was only a fledgling and had jumped out of the window presumably to learn how to fly. Thankfully his feather down had protected him from most of the fall.

They stopped at his door, number neatly labelled in gold above the peephole. Shawn leaned against it awkwardly, blushing like he was trying to muster up the courage to say something.

“So… I…” He began, unable to force anything out. He looked up at Grant, eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t be weirded out, okay?”

  
  
“Wh—”

Shawn opened the door, and Grant’s eyes widened. The resounding sound of birds chirping picked up, beginning to echo back through the apartment. Before the raven had time to register what he was seeing, he was being pushed inside. Shawn shut the door tightly behind him. “Can’t afford letting any out.” He apologised, heading further in. Poppy, who had previously been sitting calmly on Grant’s shoulder, let out a tweet and flew inside.

All he saw were birds.

There were birds everywhere. Nests of straw and soft bracken were set up on top of cabinets, cupboards… anywhere high. The curtains had been removed and replaced with rolling blinds so the small winged creatures could use the curtain poles as perches. Some birds were bundled together, others flew freely back and forth, twittering at each other.

His first thought was wonder. His second? Panic and fear. Was it legal to own this many birds? Was Shawn the host of some kind of… illegal bird fighting ring?

“Odd, isn’t it?” Shawn said. Grant looked down from all the action momentarily. The smaller was standing in front of him. Small birds would occasionally land on his shoulders, pecking affectionately at his ears before taking off again. “I rescued all of them. You Brits aren’t that kind to your birds, you know? Always hitting them with your cars and feeding them what they shouldn’t be fed.” And then Grant decided there was no way this man could ever be anything but sweet and kind, to give all these creatures a home and a person who raised and cared for them.

He headed into another room, coming into a kitchen stocked with bags and bags of birdkeeping supplies. Grant followed him, reading the small scraps of paper and reminders pinned up on his fridge with magnets.

“I’m not a really tight-scheduled person,” Shawn admitted, looking down his roster for when and how much he needed to feed the starlings, “I just… really like birds, yanno?” He gave the ebony-haired man a sheepish grin, bowing slightly under the weight of four pudgy, fat wrens that had taken place on his shoulders.

In all honesty, Grant thought it was utterly adorable. How Shawn was so adamant about his passion, yet always catching himself before he could fall into a stream of babbling about his birds, scared he would inconvenience the other person. One day, he decided, he’ll sit down and listen to him chatter about his hobby for hours.

_One day?_ He then questioned himself, wondering where the odd thought had come from. It spurred a soft laugh from him, prompting Shawn to look up from digging around in a sack of birdseed and smile warmly at him.

He had such a pretty smile.

He lost himself in his thoughts for a moment, only really snapping back into focus when Shawn grabbed his hand and poured a small lump of various seeds and grains in his hand. “There’s pigeons nesting in the other room, by the window. They won’t eat by anything but hand. Would you mind-?”

A small blush rose to Grant’s cheeks. He felt as though he was maybe reading into it a little, but the fact that Shawn was trusting him to care for his birds made him feel warm inside.

As he made his way through the twittering mess that was Shawn’s living room, he became especially surprised when some kind of medium-sized bird of prey found a perch on his shoulder. “Shawn?” He called, lightly worried as the hooked beak of the bird loomed closer to his face, intelligent eyes peering at him from behind a mottled red-brown crown. Shawn poked his head out from the kitchen, letting out a small laugh. “That’s Grifty,” He explained, gently holding out his forearm to the bird. It hopped off Grant’s shoulder, gaze never leaving his face. His eyes were a bright gleaming yellow, like two small suns. “Don’t worry, he’s just grumpy that I haven’t let him out yet. He doesn’t like being cooped up.” Shawn opened the window, allowing the big bird to clamber through and take off from the sill.

They stood together for a moment, watching him flap about in the sky before soaring off. Shawn spoke again. “Red kite. He’s a beautiful thing. Thought he would be a danger to the others, but he seems to get along with them just fine.”

Grant gave Shawn a shy stare out of the corner of his eye. The sun reflected in his eyes, gold light swimming in the Irishman’s pools of green.

He felt the overwhelming urge to hold his hand.

Focusing back on his own hand, he realised the oats and grains he was still grasping tightly had become uncomfortably warm and rubbed against his skin- he sent Shawn another soft smile, then went to find the pigeons.

And over the course of the day, Grant helped Shawn tend to his birds. The pigeons had been set up in a nest of straw and soft bracken just as Shawn had told him, and when he held out the handful of seed the birds had attacked it so harshly he’d dropped it everywhere (to the Irishman’s amusement). The second time, Shawn held the Englishman’s hands cupped in his own to sturdy them. Grant was too preoccupied to worry about the birds, only focused on the slender texture of Shawn’s fingers. They worked together to feed the sparrows and the robins, as well as herd the wrens into what was structured like an open cage. When the window was opened again, two dunnocks and three goldcrests sat on the sill for a while, before chattering at Shawn and flying off.

“They’re leaving,” He explained to Grant upon seeing his confused expression. “Birds come in and go out all the time. They might come back in a month or so if they remember me, but usually they live out their own little lives somewhere and don’t come back.” Shawn rubbed at his eye, and Grant patted his shoulder gently.

Grifty the red kite returned after a few hours, letting out a whistling call as he perched on top of the scratched antique cabinet. It was when he started eyeing up the other birds that the smaller man rushed to take some finely cut slices of meat from the fridge and throw them to him. Whenever Grant made his way through the living room, Poppy would be on his shoulder in an instant, twittering madly in his ear and nipping at the lobe before flying off to take his perch and chatter with the other finches.

When the clock hit five, Shawn brought tea out. They had to cover their cups with a mesh cover to stop the birds from drinking it, but overall it was a nice gesture. They sat on the couch across from each other, sharing small details about their lives. Grant learned that Shawn had wanted to be an art major, but had dropped out of university after properly starting to rescue birds. He made money from freelancing art, which he then used to care for them. Shawn learned Grant was a finance and accounting major in his third year, and had just gone on break three days ago.

“So what do you do in your spare time?” Shawn asked him, stirring his cup lightly and warding away Poppy, who was trying to perch on the rim of the cup long enough to dip his beak in. Grant hesitated. What was he supposed to say? _‘Well, I stay up and think about how everything is pointless and one day we’re all going to die.’_ Of course not.

So instead he just let out a soft shrug. “Not much. I’m a very boring person.” He drained his cup, setting it aside. Most of the birds had fallen into a lapse of silence, huddled together on their perches and in their nests. Grifty had tucked his head under his wing, napping peacefully with a belly full of cold cuts on top of his cabinet. 

Grant cleared his throat, standing up and waving Poppy away from his shoulder. “I should—”

Shawn stood up as well, a soft smile on his face. “Of course. It was lovely for you to come over, thank you.” His words were soft, eyes bright. Their hands brushed slightly when they both moved for the door, and Grant could’ve sworn he blushed.

Then he was on the other side of the door, looking back at him. Shawn definitely blushed, turning his gaze to his feet and fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “Would you—?” He began, sounding sort of scared. Grifty, who had awoken from his nap, launched off the cabinet and came to a stop on Shawn’s shoulder, peering over his hooked beak at Grant with beady eyes. Shawn fidgeted more, letting out a string of whispers.

“What was that?”

  
  
“Would you… come back tomorrow?” Shawn glanced up at Grant hopefully, shoulders dipping under the big bird’s weight.

Grant smiled softly at him. Relief flooded through his system. “Of course.”

Shawn grinned at him then, eyes lighting up. “See you tomorrow, then.” He grabbed the door handle.

“See you, bird boy.” Through the crack in the door, Grant saw Shawn’s face light up in an even redder blush. It shut, and he let out a sigh, turning to the stairs and heading up to his level.

Maybe there was something to live for after all.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not expecting this to get many hits, but kudos and comments are always appreciated ^^


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